


Fight

by gilbeilschmidt



Series: PolyBeatles [4]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Arguing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Paul has had enough, There's a lot of yelling, and arguing, and paul cries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 10:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilbeilschmidt/pseuds/gilbeilschmidt
Summary: Paul doesn't want to write lyrics by himself just because John is lazy.





	Fight

John and Paul were sat in their hotel room together. George and Ringo had gone downstairs to get them all some food, (probably some cheap, shitty pizza but honestly, none of them really cared) and had been gone a while now (but not long enough for the other two to worry). Paul sat on the floor with his legs crossed, head in hands, as if trying to hide the emotion in his eyes. John lay on the bed opposite him, his legs dangling off the bed. They’d attempted to write together but the elder Beatle was tired and worn out after a long day of shows and interviews and all that shit.

 

"Why the fuck are you so stubborn, John?" Paul asked loudly and slammed his hands down on the floor next to where he was sat. The notebook he'd been writing song lyrics in - alone - had been discarded a while ago, in the midst of their arguing. It was still open, displaying scribbles of ideas and sentences and at the end it said "Written by Paul, John is a lazy arse" in an even angrier handwriting. 

 

"I don't want to write right now, okay, Paul? Just toss off." John replied curtly and waved his hand dismissively, making Paul stand up suddenly. Paul stared at him for a few seconds before breathing in deeply, and exhaling slowly. His voice came out in a deep, trembling tone as he tried to hide how annoyed he was - very, very annoyed at John, but what was new? John was a generally annoying person - "You're going to help me write, John, or Eppy will have our heads." 

 

John merely laughed softly, "Let 'im, I don't care."  Of course, he did, but he wasn’t about to let Paul know that, the other would crucify him! So he kept up his act of being chill, and, well, not caring. 

 

His response only made Paul huff and cross his arms, “Stop being so fuckin’ dramatic and  _ write a song with me!” _ He shouted, face going red when he realised what he’d done - he never yelled or shouted, ever, and this was… different. A bad different. Paul wasn’t really generally an angry person, but at that moment he was practically  _ radiating  _ annoyance.

 

John rolled his eyes, a bored look on his face, “You’re the one being a dramatic bitch, Paul. Yellin’ and shit. Leave me alone, why don’t ya?” He said this way too calmly for what he was actually feeling, an angry ache in his chest that seemed to be building with every breath he took; he also knew Paul wouldn’t give up any time soon. John sat up and smiled venomously at him.

 

The younger Beatle stood still for a few seconds, evaluating the situation. John took this as an opportunity to speak again, without really thinking, “You’re such a fucking  _ princess,  _ Paulie. A pretty little princess, huh? You’re like a baby. Stop,” He seethed slightly, “Fucking whining, for once in your life ‘kay? Nobody fucking cares.” 

 

John really had no idea why the fuck he had said that, it just came out so fast and he didn’t expect it to have such a large effect on Paul, who was now staring in shock. He immediately felt bad but ultimately decided not to say anything again, knowing that he’d make things worse if he carried on making snarky comments and speaking non-meaningful insults. Really, he didn’t mean it. He didn’t. 

Paul quietly approached his discarded lyrics diary (what he called it, sometimes it was “John and Paul’s Fantastic Lyrics” but that didn’t seem appropriate at that moment) and picked it up, holding it tightly in his hand. “Fine,” He spoke, his voice trembling, “If that’s what you really think of me, then I guess I’ll leave.” 

 

The elder Beatle did nothing to stop him as the other turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him. If he wanted to be like that, that was his problem, not John’s.

 

He lay in silence for a few minutes, finally getting the peace and quiet he wanted, and, frankly, deserved after the day he had had. He could add “Paul’s whining” to his list of shit things that had happened that day, right under “Ringo being attacked by a fan” (something that Ringo had surprisingly gotten over quiet quickly - like, seriously, if it were George, he’d still be crying now!) and sighed. 

 

After a few minutes, John found himself worrying when Paul hadn’t returned yet. He was probably smoking, he thought. That was the very likely alternative to other thoughts he was having about his leaving - what if he had gotten kidnapped? Or something worse? He tried to push them away but they kept coming, each thought worse than the other until he decided to get up and look for him. 

 

On the floor, he spotted what looked like a diary entry, or something along those lines. He picked it up and read through it suspiciously, curiosity taking him over. It was obvious from the handwriting that Paul had written it, it read  _ ‘John Lennon is probably the best person I’ve ever known. I love Ringo and George, yes, a lot, but I am closest with John, and before we all started dating, it was always John and I. John and Paul. He can be lazy sometimes, and aggressive sometimes, but I love him. A lot. He’s my everything. I love him. Everything about him is gorgeous and I don’t know what I’d do without him.’ _

 

John could feel tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to fall - he felt guilt. An overwhelming feeling of guilt had suddenly stuck him and he practically ran out of the room, chasing after Paul. His Paul. Their Paul.

 

On the way, he ran into George and Ringo, who were on their way upstairs (actually using the stairs, which was unusual as they always preferred the lift - it was more fun), holding hands. 

 

“Paul and I had an argument and he left because I said something bad and now I can’t find him and I’m worrying-”   
  
“John.”

 

“What if he got kidnapped? Or-”

 

“John.”

 

“-what if he gets murdered? It’ll be all my fault-”

 

A kiss on his lips startled him and stopped him from talking any further, “We saw him downstairs. He said he was stepping out for some air,” Ringo said softly, kissing John again, this time on the cheek, “He seemed pretty upset. We can go and see him, yeah? And apologise, luv?” John nodded eagerly, letting Ringo and George lead him back down the stairs. He almost stepped on the back of their shoes because of how fast he was moving, rushing to see Paul and apologise, because  _ fuck  _ he felt so  _ bad.  _

 

They saw him leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, tears running down his cheeks as he cried softly.

 

John immediately ran up to him, and before he could say anything, hugged him close. “I’m sorry Paulie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I was just angry and,” He stuttered a bit, “I’m sorry.” Paul hugged back slowly, crying softly into John’s shoulder, “It’s okay, Johnny. I’m sorry too.”

 

They shared a kiss and, with the other two Beatles, made their way back upstairs.

 

The note Paul wrote was left, undisturbed, on John’s bedside table - well, the Hotel’s bedside table, and that night, he showed Paul how much he loved him.

 

They all did.

 

 

//

 

 

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